A Study in Pond
by Ohthatfangirl
Summary: The Doctor drops Amy Pond off in London for a bit and she decides to pay a visit to an old friend... the world's only consulting detective. Pondlock. Amy/Sherlock. Oneshot.


**HELLO! So I basically wrote this to make up for not updating my other Pondlock story. I HAVE WRITER'S BLOCK, OKAY? But... this is completely separate to that story. Total one-shot Pondlock. Please let me know what you think of it! Reviews honestly help me so, so much!**

Amy Pond wrapped her arms around herself and shivered. Blimey. London. In the winter. Why was no-one answering the bloody door?! She had rang the bell three times now!

"Sherlock Holmes, I know you're in there!" she called out, knocking on the door of 221B rather sharply.

The Doctor had gone off, and she was waiting for him... again. He said something about... needing to refuel? So, he had dropped her off in London. It was already dark out and she knew better than to wander the streets of London alone at night. So... she decided to visit an old friend. If... /friend/... was the right word.

. . .

Sherlock let out a huge huff. He was lying on the sofa in the flat, in his blue dressing gown, staring at the ceiling. He knew there was someone at the door. In fact, he knew that it was Amelia Pond, the redheaded Scott. She had a very distinctive way of ringing the bell. How many times had she rung it now? Three? Four? But he just could not be bothered to get up.

"MRS HUDSON!" He shouted for his landlady, hoping she would just answer it instead.

When she didn't reply, he reluctantly stood himself up and bounded down the stairs, opening the front door with a frown. "What is it, Pond?"

Amy was visibly shivering as she quirked a brow at the detective.

"Going to let a lady just stand out here and freeze or what?"

Sherlock frowned even more, looking her up and down before opening the door wider to allow her to enter.

"You know... if you do not want to freeze to death, then you should wear more sensible clothing... and not that belt that you call a 'skirt'."

He hated her skirts. Hated them. Did she actually know how revealing they were? Her long legs were on show for the whole of London to see. And at night and... who knows what could happen.

Amy glared slightly, but did not retort as she walked through the doorway, shoving Sherlock slightly and muttering, "Idiot."

"Hmm." he shut the door behind her and, without even giving her a second glance, started walking back up the stairs again, mumbling to himself.

"She /always/ wears short skirts. Far too short."

She knew that Sherlock was not talking to her but she answered back anyway as she followed him quickly up the stairs.

"Oi! They are /not/ too short"

Sherlock simply scoffed. They had had this argument already. He did not want to get into it again.

Amy Pond was one of the very few people he did not like arguing with. Because she nearly won some arguments. Nobody beat Sherlock Holmes. Nobody.

As soon as Amy entered the flat, she wrapped her arms around herself, feeling the warmth flooding into her from the lit fireplace. A thought suddenly occurred to her.

"Where's John?"

"Hmm?" Sherlock glanced around the flat once.

"Oh. Well... he /was/ here. But he appears to be out. Either work or on a date. Most probably the latter."

That made her laugh. Sherlock was always saying (complaining) to her about how many girlfriends John got through. Every time she saw the pair of them, he was with a different girl. John Hamish Watson... The Womanizer.

Still smiling, Amy walked over to the sofa and jumped onto it, lying down and nuzzling into one of the cushions. It was... warm. Sherlock must have been lying on there before he answered the door. She didn't know why... but the thought of that made her smile grow.

"So... what were you doing before I... 'interrupted' your evening, Holmes?"

She turned her head to one side, only to see Sherlock glaring down at her with narrowed eyes.

"Get. Off." His voice was low and dangerous.

Amy held back a smirk. She knew what he was like. This was /his/ sofa. Nobody lay down on /his/ sofa without /his/ permission.

She looked up at him innocently.

"Do you have a blanket I could use?"

Sherlock frowned, his glare increasing as he strode purposefully towards the sofa until he was right next to it. He bent down to look her in the eye, his voice deadly serious.

"Amelia Jessica Pond, get off my sofa /right/ now, or I shall drag you off myself."

Shivers of electricity ran up Amy's spine. Wow. They were so... /close/. She could feel his hot breath on her cheeks, which were still icy cold from the freezing weather outside.

She smirked at him playfully.

"I'd like to see you try."

Oh. She did not just go there. Did she just... challenge Sherlock Holmes?

He quirked a brow at her a flash of a smirk going across his lips before quickly returning to neutral. He leaned his head down closer, whispering.

"I really don't think you would."

His breath was on her lips now, making them tingle slightly. Both of their faces were only inches apart now as Amy smirked, with a mischievous gleam in her eye.

"I really would, Mr. Holmes. Or, you could be nice for once and just share."

He sighed in mock disappointment.

"Oh, Ms Pond... I do not /share/."

Trying (and failing) to hide the smirk on his lips, he swiftly slid his hands underneath her and scooped her up into his arms with ease, making Amy let out a small yelp.

"Now. Shall I just drop you down onto the floor or..."

She giggled a little and wrapped her arms around Sherlock's neck.

"Either you share the sofa with me or you'll be forced to have me in your lap, Mr. Holmes," she half purred into his ear, making sure her grip was solid.

"Or we both go down."

Well... he should have seen that coming. She was Amelia Pond after all. She could find a way around most things. He rolled his eyes. How typical.

He turned his head to look at her, their faces inches apart yet again.

It was strange. He could feel her heart beating through her chest, because they were that close. And her pulse had increased dramatically. He frowned and looked into her eyes... Dilated. Interesting.

"Hmm."

Amy pulled away a bit to look at Sherlock more squarely.

"What?" She questioned, her brow furrowing. "What's the frown for?"

She saw his Adam's apple bob up and down as he swallowed thickly, keeping his eyes locked with hers.

"You. Your pupils are dilated."

Amy blinked. She knew nothing about science. At least... nothing about the chemical reactions of the body. But by the look on Sherlock's face, it obviously meant something. What? What did it mean?

"So?" she questioned, feeling unease sweep through her stomach.

Sherlock's brows furrowed even further, muttering so quietly that it was barely audible.

"I wonder..."

And his eyes flickered down to her lips for a few moments before quickly returning to look into her eyes.

Amy's stomach gave a tiny flip as she watched his eyes flicker down to her lips. Now she knew what /that/ meant. She had worked as a Kiss-O-Gram for four years...

Her throat went dry.

"What?" She asked quietly, her voice barely above a whisper.

Sherlock tilted his head to one side slightly. His eyes once again flickered down to her lips. He could feel his own pulse quickening. What was happening? Slowly, he started to lean his face closer to hers. He didn't even realise that he was doing it. It was just... instinct.

She could feel it now. The tension in the air. The electricity between them. Her pulse was racing out of control, when their lips finally met.

She nearly lost her hold around Sherlock's neck, but pressed into the kiss gently as she closed her eyes.

After a few seconds, she pulled away abruptly, her eyes a bit wide with shock.

"W-we um…" she stuttered, unable to form her thoughts into words.

Sherlock drew in a sharp intake of breath, his eyes slightly wider than usual too. He took the opportunity of Amy loosening her grip on his neck, to lower her gently to the ground, making her stand up.

"Yes." He said simply, in his low baritone voice.

Amy swallowed a little, playing with her hair.

"And… but you're…" Amy muttered, giving a large sigh.

"I don't know what to make of this," she said, curling up on Sherlock's arm chair.

Sherlock didn't say anything. He was just studying her carefully. Trying to figure her out. Did she regret it? No. She did not. Was she confused about it? Most certainly.

He frowned.

It took a few moments for Amy to find her voice again.

"You're married to your work. Why kiss me?"

He did not answer straight away. In truth, he did not actually know why. It was odd. He just... felt like he NEEDED to.

When he finally spoke, he decided to go with half the truth.

"To test a theory."

Ouch.

No. Wait. Why did that hurt her? What was she expecting exactly? That he had suddenly changed? That he... /liked/ her?! No. This was Sherlock. She was an experiment. Nothing more.

Amy nodded once, straightening her shirt a bit.

"So it was just a theory?" She asked cautiously.

"Yes. It was..." He cleared his throat. "Just a theory."

The redheaded Scott could not help but show the slight disappointment on her face. Although... she still did not know why she felt that way.

She nodded and wrapped her arms around her knees, letting her head rest on top of them.

"Good thing you've got the fire going. I was half tempted to go steal a blanket." she murmured, letting her eyes close.

Sherlock swallowed thickly again as he saw the flash ofdisappointment go across her face. Maybe he should just tell her the truth? No. Not an option. He wasn't even sure of what the truth was himself.

He let out a small sigh before turning and walking into the kitchen.

Amy kept unusually quiet as she watched him walk into the kitchen, her mind still whirring; replaying what had just happened, over and over again.

She straightened up slightly as Sherlock came back with a cup of tea in his hands. Milk. Two sugars. Just the way he knew Amy liked it.

He placed the cup on the table in front of her before studying her face as she rubbed her eyes.

"Tired?"

"A bit," Amy said quietly, giving a small nod for the tea before taking it and sipping from it.

"Perfect as usual."

Sherlock let a slight smirk tug at one corner of his mouth.

"Of course it is. I made it."

Modest as usual. Although... Amy found his cockiness slightly... attractive.

_No, Amy. Stop._

She let her finger drag around the edge of her mug.

"So… what was your theory on, then?"

Sherlock pursed his lips as he considered answering her question.

He decided against it.

"It is..." he quickly looked at his watch.

"Almost 10pm. If you want, I shall sleep on the couch. You may have my bed. I don't tend to sleep anyway."

"That's alright," Amy said, shrugging a bit and sipping at her tea again. "I can take the sofa."

"No you won't." he said sternly... she was /not/ getting her own way in this.

He sat himself down in the armchair opposite, steepling his fingers under his chin.

Amy looked up to him, raising an eyebrow.

"I'll be perfectly fine on the sofa." She gave a short bark of a laugh. "Or is this part of your theory?"

Sherlock frowned at that. Theory? No. Was it so hard to believe that he was just trying to be... nice?

"Hm. No, it is not. I simply insist that you sleep in my bed as it is more comfortable and you have not slept properly in a couple of nights."

Amy hummed a little, sipping at her tea again.

"I've slept just fine."

Sherlock gazed at her face again, studying the bags under her eyes from sleep deprivation.

He scoffed lightly.

"Liar."

"Slept fine. Just not for that long," Amy mumbled, rubbing at the back of her neck and adjusting her hair.

Sherlock shook his head. It seemed lack of sleep was muffling her ability to make sense.

"You have not slept 'fine' if you have not slept for long enough, Pond."

"Says the man that sleeps every other day," Amy said, looking to Sherlock, a smirk dancing across her lips.

Oh no. She was not turning this around. This was about her not him.

"Irrelevant. I do not need sleep like ordinary people do." He said, never taking his eyes off her.

Amy sighed. She was too tired to argue with him. And she was starting to feel her eyes droop...

She sipped more of her tea before rubbing at her eyes again.

"The tea tastes different. Still good. But different."

Sherlock managed to hold back the smirk that wanted to creep onto his lips.

"Oh?"

A thought suddenly occurred to her. He must have noticed that she had not been sleeping well. And he made her tea. He never made her tea. It just didn't happen. And the tea tasted funny. And he was holding back a smirk. And... oh god... he'd put something in her tea, hadn't he?

Her eyes widened as she looked up from the tea at him.

"What did you do to my tea, you wanker?"

Sherlock couldn't help but let out a small chuckle escape his mouth.

"Calm down, Amelia. It is just a mild sedative. Just to help you sleep."

"You should have at least told me," Amy muttered, putting her mostly finished tea down and rubbing her eyes again.

"You would never have let me put it in." He let out a small sigh and leaned back in the armchair, his gaze still fixed on her as he watched her eyes start to droop.

Amy ran a hand wearily through her hair, starting to feel the effects of the drug pulling at her consciousness. Despite the fact that he had just drugged her, she knew that he had meant well by it. And... in the long run, it would probably help her to get her sleeping pattern back in order.

A small smile crossed her lips.

"You're sweet, you know. You may not believe me, but you really can be," she said softly, eyes drooping but lingering on his face.

Sherlock frowned at the word 'sweet'. He was not 'sweet'. But... he knew what she was thinking. That he had been worrying about her wellbeing when putting that sedative in her tea. And she was right.

He hated it when she was right.

"I'll use a stronger sedative next time, if you start talking like that." He murmured.

A small giggle came from Amy's lips.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," she muttered back. "I'm taking your bed. As repayment for you drugging me."

Sherlock smiled. A rare, genuine smile. He had won this one and she knew it.

"That is illogical, Pond. I wanted you to take my bed anyway." He smirked.

Amy simply rolled her eyes. She could feel her limbs getting heavier and heavier every moment, as she let out a huge yawn.

Sherlock sighed. He knew she would be asleep in a matter of minutes.

Standing up, he moved over to her and, once again, scooped her up in his arms and started to carry her bridal-style to his bedroom as Amy brought her arms around his neck, feeling drowsiness take over.

"You always take care of me. Why?"

Sherlock pursed his lips and lay her down on his bed, tucking her in gently. Hesitating before muttering,

"There are very few people, Amelia Pond, that count to me." He leaned in and placed a soft kiss on her forehead.

"You are one of those few. You count."

For the first time since she had known him... Amy Pond knew that he was telling her the total and utter truth. She could see it in his eyes. He was wearing his heart upon his sleeve... which was something he never usually did.

She smiled up at him wearily.

"You count too, Sherlock." She let out another yawn and closed her eyes. "A lot. Nighty-night."

Sherlock looked down at her, a small but genuine smile on his lips.

Theory = Positive.

Amelia Pond counted.

And so did he.

He stroked her hair lightly before straightening up and walking to the door, pausing when he got there.

"Goodnight, Amelia."

**Well... there you go. Pondlock, eh? Such a good ship to ship. They just... work so well together. Sherlock really needs someone to balance him out and Amelia is perfect for that. I really hope you enjoyed this little one-shot. If you did, please leave me a review and I shall love you FOREVER. Honestly. And... if you didn't enjoy it, tell me why in a review too. So yeah. THANK YOU ALL FOR READING!**

**Scarlett x**

. . .

**Beta Note (Is this a thing? It's a thing now): *squeeeeeeee* This was perfection. ALSO. Go and follow Scarlett on da twitters ( ohthatfangirl) and tell her that she looks like Karen Gillan. Because she does. SHE IS KAREN. KAREN IS HER. THEY ARE ONE. **

**That is all. - Olivia**


End file.
